


Think Pink!

by OKami_hu, oksammich



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Fingering, Breast Fucking, Clones, Injury, M/M, Minor Character Death, Non-Graphic Violence, Realization, Sexual Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-12-06 11:33:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11599797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OKami_hu/pseuds/OKami_hu, https://archiveofourown.org/users/oksammich/pseuds/oksammich
Summary: "Realizations like this tended to hit like turbolaser fire and Katta's knees buckled under the weight. Really... What were they fighting for?" And how can they keep fighting when so much was lost? But losses aren't the only things war has brought - certain deep truths are revealed to the Jedi master about his clone captain as well.





	1. Chapter 1

At first, he was able to tell every one of them apart. Their wide eyes, frozen in terror, looked the same to everyone else, but he was their captain and he could see the differences. He never looked down at their faces and saw his own. He saw the individuals, brothers as different and unique to him as the countless stars in the sky. He celebrated their passing. For the glory of the Republic, for the freedom and security of its citizens, they met their end.

At first, he could maintain enthusiasm for battle. He shouted and barked orders, his men pushed forward, and they gained ground. The remnants of droids scorched the earth and laid in crumpled, twisted scraps of metal. He considered every skirmish a success, even when they were forced into a tactical retreat. Every ruined CIS droid was one less droid to contend with later. No matter how fast the bastards could churn the droids out, the Grand Army could destroy them with ease.

At first, he could justify the casualties. The battles were intense. Captain Hector, or CC-9003, knew that they were right on the front-lines. They dug their heels in. They shouldered forward when they could. And when they couldn’t, they fell back, regrouped, and charged again. It didn’t come across to him that their attempts were futile. It never occurred to him that they were beating together in a fight as endless as wind battering mountains.

Somewhere along the way, he found he couldn’t do it anymore. It had been over half a year since he’d been assigned to Jedi General Syn Katta; together, they had held this planet. He should’ve been pleased.

That night, Hector stared down at the clone in his arms and realized he couldn’t see anything but another corpse. Was this a rookie? A veteran? The color of his armor told him that this was a private, and there were markings on his face that he’d probably been so proud of. Because they made him an individual. His brothers would know him. Except for Hector. His brother Hector had no idea who he was. His brother Hector had found him moving after the battle. His brother Hector knelt down beside him and removed his helmet, hoisted his head into his lap and spoke softly to him while surveying the damage that had been done to his body. His brother Hector didn’t call for a medic, because the both of them knew it was no use. Hector had come alone anyway. His brother Hector saw the artillery blasts that tore through his armor and ripped open arteries, shattered bones, and shredded vital organs. He should’ve been dead long before, but somehow managed to just lay there, slowly and quietly bleeding out.

All for the glory of the Republic.

The clone thanked Hector. Called Hector by name. Hector smiled down at him. Told him to rest. He was a good soldier and obeyed.

The familiar eyes darkened and the body, that was just as tall and probably weighed just as much as his, went limp. Hector fought back a hot burning in his eyes as he tried to think of his name. Not his code, his _name!_ He made the mistake of lifting his head, allowing his blurry gaze to survey the twisted bodies of every other clone _he_ had guided to their deaths. Personally. _He_ led them to this. _He_ gave the orders for them to march straight forward and fire. _He_ gave the orders for them to step over the fallen. _He_ ordered them to die.

That night, he finally understood the word ‘despair’. It crushed him like he’d been kicked in the chest and left him aching, hurting deeper than any blaster shot could ever reach. 

What sort of captain was he? It wasn’t noticeable that their company was shredded to _nothing_. The casualties were supposed to be a small fraction of their population, but it was reversed. There were more bodies cold and still on the earth than were at the base. No one escaped unscathed. Even he was wounded. Somewhere. He hurt all over, so he didn’t want to bother finding out where it was physically the worst.

Hector stumbled away from the clone he couldn’t recognize, leaving his arms crossed neatly over his chest and his helmet propped up beside his head. The captain clumsily tugged off his own helmet and found himself wishing he was laying beside that clone, unrecognized and without anyone looking up to him anymore. He was more a murderer than the CIS bastards who’d waged this senseless war. He didn’t deserve this rank. Pit, he didn’t deserve to even march with a blaster any more. He stumbled into the darkness with tears streaking his face, all too aware of just what his feet kept catching on. His brothers. He was staggering over his _brothers_ and he didn’t even know who they were!

He found a place where the trees weren’t broken by lasers and they swallowed him up with quiet understanding. He stopped trying to escape the slaughter, and with a ragged, miserable shout, he sank to his knees and wept.

Smoke covered everything, billowing thickly over the battlefield, blocking out the dying sunlight; maybe it wanted to hide Hector’s shame, the ravaged fields and the mangled bodies of the fallen. Shattered battle droid corpses were strewn everywhere, some of them still burning, belching black smoke into the air. Without the helmet’s filters, the stench was nigh unbearable - smoldering metal, scorched plastoid and yes, the sickening aroma of charred flesh was present, too. The smell of copper lingered as well, blood escaping from torn veins as the dying took their last breaths.

Everything was fleeing, the smoke, the light, the last sparks of life. One would have expected silence but that would have been too much a bliss, a luxury. There was a faint murmur in the air, persistent and creepy, curling around like the fear when one doesn’t know where the enemies hide, only that they’re dangerously close. A faint breeze idled around, flicking the leaves. Fire crackled. Droid batteries spat sparks, as if the merciless machines would be dying too, their bodies giving the last twitches. And if the observer listened, there were more human sounds as well - ragged breathing, moans, whimpers, choked sobs.

Hector cradled his head so he won’t be able to hear. 

The crunching, staggering steps came almost as a welcome distraction. Somebody, or something was wading through the dead. As the trooper lifted his head, he could see a menacing shadow drawing closer. It could have been anything. Hector shook off his tears and put his helmet back, cursing the malfunctioning software which didn’t seem to provide anything at the moment but basic normal vision. He readied his weapon.

There was no telltale clanking noise signaling a stray droid though. The shadow drew closer and suddenly, a blue figure emerged from the smoke: General Syn Katta. The Chagrian was easily half a head taller than his clones, shoulders broad, back always straight but right now, he was just as battle-worn as anybody. His tall horns were chipped, his indigo skin blackened by ash; his proud posture was hunched, steps nowhere near as steady as usually. His yellow eyes were slightly glazed with exhaustion and pain, he was cradling his side and one sleeve of his long Jedi robe was gone, the fabric charred and torn. 

He perked up though when he spotted the clone. His expression seldom brightened - the troopers had tales that he never even smiled - but oddly enough, it did now. Something akin to relief flashed across the smudged indigo visage.

“Captain Hector! So glad to see you... Are you alright?”

He holstered his weapon and straightened up to salute. It was only when he finally straightened that he realized how much his leg ached. He’d dodged an artillery blast that had wiped out half a dozen men in one shot, but he didn’t escape the shrapnel, apparently. “I am unharmed, General. I was just..”

The voice didn’t sound like his own. Not that it was truly his own anyhow. It was thick and heavy with tears. He thought he would stop once he was back in the normal swing of titles and military protocol, but the sight of the Jedi made the flood run anew. He kept his posture stiff even as he wept behind his visor. “Allow me to escort you to the medics, sir.”

That was it. He couldn’t speak anymore. As he approached, he dipped his head to surreptitiously switch off his communicator. He steps were wobbly and he favored his left leg. His left hand ached, too, he noticed. Even in his grief, he knew what was important. These Jedi were like gods in his eyes. They soiled themselves in blood and oil, battling right alongside beings that were little more than droids themselves. He respected their selflessness. He admired their prowess. 

General Katta would never forget his brother’s name.

Hector’s breath caught. He thought he hid it well, though, by dipping his shoulder underneath the General’s and offering his physical support. There might’ve been a height difference, but he could at least act as something to lean on.

“It’s not necessary Captain, I can still walk,” Katta protested. “You on the other hand seem to be injured.” He took the trooper’s shoulder, steadying him. “I don’t want to lose you as well.” He looked away, as if ashamed. “The casualties were incredibly high. Wave Company is practically wiped out, and I’m glad for every trooper that survived.” 

Something was wrong. He could feel the clone trembling under his hand. “Captain- You need the medics more than I do. Let us not waste time.”

He didn't want the medics. He didn't want the sympathy. He didn't even want to stand up anymore. Wave Company was essentially gone. Those who weren't dead were injured--some would not survive the night. Hector's shoulders jerked as if he'd been shot again. He dug his heels into the dirt and shook off that gentle, caring hand. "I don't deserve it!" he shouted, though his agonized voice was muffled by his helmet. He put his hands over the visor, ready to buckle at any second. Why couldn't he just be alone?!

The yellow eyes grew wider and- was that some moisture in them...? The Jedi grabbed his soldier's shoulders. "What are you talking about? We need all capable soldiers, and you're my captain. I'm not going to let you bleed out on this blasted field!"

Hector staggered in the direction of Syn's hands, not caring anymore. He just hurt so much. Inside, it was like he'd been disemboweled and filled up again with stones and ice, and it -hurt-. He'd always been so sure of himself before. He'd been doing the right thing. He considered himself a good soldier. A good man. Didn't General Katta see what Hector was?! He had to see. He had to know. Hector's helmet came off roughly, then hit the ground like an empty casket. "Capable?! What about me is capable?"

His face felt hot and his eyes ached from crying. His throat, too. It all hurt! "What sort of captain kills his men, sir? Being assigned to me is their death sentence! How can you justify wasting another resource on a murderer like me?! Why..." He sagged, the shouting making his head ache, too. "...why can't I... save my brothers?"

The Chagrian blinked. He had never seen a clone act like this. True, when he saw them without their helmet, they were usually at the mass, eating, chatting, being merry. For a good while, he didn't care much for them, but lately... as the death toll rose, it started to bother him. All the death and suffering around him infected the Force, and it started to suffocate him. It was like breathing smoke all the time.

The Captain's anguish grabbed Katta by the throat, too; for a fleeting moment, he was flooded with the clone's grief and it was so potent, so sharp, it took his breath away. He had to swallow. "Cap- Hector. It's not your fault. You're the best captain I could wish for. Remember... I'm leading this army. If anyone is to blame... it is me."

He couldn't remember the last time he cried. Now he could feel the tears forming in his eyes. They Jedi Code taught that one had to have control over the emotions, distance them and not be affected. Emotions led to the Dark Side. But at the moment, it was impossible to look around and not feel anything.

"I-it can't possibly be your fault," Hector reasoned, though his head fell because he couldn't bear to see his own pain reflected in Syn's eyes. A large part of him had hoped to be reprimanded for his outburst. To be put back in his place. To be unthinking, unfeeling. To just be the machine he was bred to be. "Your leadership is flawless and your skills as a Jedi are extraordinary." He'd just been doing this for far too long. No one should be born to fight. No one. There was no other humanoid in the universe with a life expectancy as short as a clone's. Hector wanted out. "I... don't know that I can continue, sir. I have been fortunate to serve under your command, but.. I sometimes.. wish to lay with my brothers on these killing fields, sir." He dared a glance up. There was no use fighting this anymore.

His brown eyes dulled with pain and he finally let it out in a choked sob. "I no longer know what their sacrifice is for. I wish that I could be a more effective captain to you, or at the very least, a captain who dies with his men. I am nothing more than a failure as I am."

Realizations like this tended to hit like turbolaser fire and Katta's knees buckled under the weight. Really... What were they fighting for? Why was he roaming the galaxy with these men, performing one suicide mission after the another, always staring down the latest, most advanced droids, destroying facilities that were more heavily guarded than the Senate building and engaging CIS strategists who were living legends...? Was he that good? Nobody was that good. He didn't even know why he was still alive - he had a million chances to die. Yet he was here, and Captain Hector was here, too. The two leaders always emerged to recoup, inspect the new troops and send them out to die.

The indigo hands tightened their hold on the stained armor. "Stop this, Captain," Katta hissed. A teardrop rolled down his face, clearing a path on his cheek. "You need to be alive. Without you, the battle would've been lost, without a single survivor. I could have died, too. You saved _some_. You need to live for them." He gulped. "You need to be strong. I need your skills." He cupped the clone's head firmly, fingers raking through Hector's pink hair. Pink. Such a gentle, delicate color when he was so incredibly strong.

"I need you, Hector."

He felt small. He -was- small compared the Chagrian, but it was more than a size difference now. He felt weak, too. His chest hurt from supporting an invisible weight. His whole body felt like he'd dived into a bath of mud, oil, and blood in full armor. He didn't realize how tired he was from struggling to stay afloat. Hector was exhausted through and through, but.. he didn't feel so alone in this any longer. Radiating from General Katta was the strength and support he needed so badly. It was right there, in those warm golden eyes and that serene face. In that single tear, too. Jedi were good men. Better men. He understood even more now, what a great burden they carried in this war. "Yes.. yes sir." He choked out the affirmative, then he broke. He buried his face into Syn Katta's chest, inhaling the scent of sweat, ash, and dirt, then he let it go. There were no tears left to cry, but there were moans of anguish, of a pain that a medic couldn't fix. His sobs were low, like howls, and were fragmented by gasps for air

Hector wound his free arm around the stronger body, and though his hand protested with jabs of pain, he held fast to his robes. He needed Katta, too.

Strong arms came around him and he could feel the tightness of the embrace even through his armor. Shallow breathing sent puffs of hot air against his ear as the Chagrian fought with his own tears. The smooth, deep commanding voice was raspy now and strained. "We need to hold on... for the Republic. We die for others, for their freedom. It's not easy... I know it isn't. I can feel your pain. But no matter how it hurts... we have to hold on because if we don't- Nobody will. We've been given the worst missions. We did our best."

Surprisingly, the emotional pressure was easing. The Dark gnawing on his soul backed off and with a last gravelly snarl, it slithered away like a malicious beast. Syn could breath again and he gasped. The air was still heavy with the stench of the battle, but it still felt sweet.

"Let's go back, Captain. We both need medical attention."

The pressure was dizzying but it was a welcome escape, too. He held onto the other man for as long as he could, until the logic of his General's suggestion prodded him like a soft kiss before morning roll call. "You're right." He was. He was right about everything. Hector had to be stronger. He couldn't dwell on the casualties, but he could celebrate them like before. He had to hold his head up for his brothers. Hector removed himself from the warm embrace and looked down at his hands out of habit. The pain made sense now: his entire pinky finger and much of the side of his hand was gone, marred by a neatly-cauterized blaster wound that was trying to split open.

Katta grabbed after it as soon as he noticed and gently turned the injured appendage to inspect it. "You... didn't even notice?" he asked, both awed and confused. "I'll see to it that you'll get an implant... if it's possible."

"I didn't realize," he admitted softly, "There was a trooper still moving and I thought..." He trailed off and shook his head. His hair was longer than allowed, but when he spiked it, it was difficult to tell. Sweat had weighed it down, and the wilted locks softened his face a bit. "You're too kind, sir."

"Oh, come on..." Katta curled a hand around the clone's shoulder. "Your leg is injured. This once, you can accept my help." They began to limp back to the carriers - they didn't have many troops to carry. There were barely a handful of survivors. A rookie medic ran to them when they reached the landing site; he wasn't wearing his helmet, his face was pale, eyes wide.

"General! We almost thought we lost you. Captain- How bad is it? Let me see."

"We'll both live," the Jedi dismissed him. "You can worry for us when we're back at the ship. I wish to make a report to the Council first, though. Just put a bandage on the captain's hand."

It was difficult to miss Hector's panicked look. His heart sank down into his stomach, then all of the rest of his organs ran down to his feet. He stood still while his glove was literally peeled from charred flesh. It would be replaced, of course. The medic's movements were quick and precise; pain was part of both their jobs, and they handled it stoically. He had bigger things to worry about now. Like, what the Council was going to say about an emotional clone who lost a majority of his battalion. The medic stepped back with a grim look on his face. "You've taken a great deal of shrapnel damage, sir. I'll need to see to it as soon as you're finished."

"At ease, soldier," Katta sighed from where he was sitting in the LAATi, back against the wall. "We've worried enough. Everything will be handled as soon as possible." He turned to another clone whose armor was more black than white. "Lieutenant, I need an exact figure of the men we lost."

The lieutenant replied in the affirmative, then entered some figures into his datapad. After a moment, he glanced up, lips tight. He looked like he was going to be sick. Hector felt the same. "95 per-cent of our company is presently deceased. We expect over half of the survivors to perish before the day is out. None of our field medic corp survived the second artillery wave."

Somebody at the back murmured "I quit" and Katta could hear the clatter of the armor as the poor sod fell on his knees. Another trooper was at his side immediately, quietly holding his brother. The medic looked guilty.

The Jedi buried his face into his hand and idly wondered if a speech would ease the pain or just make it worse.

“We have yet to receive statistics from Quake company, but we estimate that Captain Hammer suffered heavy losses as well. We lost most of our artillery support during the final waves, due to a CIS strike in our rear flank. Much of our equipment has either been destroyed or damaged. The central and left wings report no salvageable heavy weaponry after our victory.”

Hector didn’t think he could hear anymore, but the lieutenant continued. “We specifically report that the first and second infantry under Captain Hector suffered a 100% mortality rate. Third infantry, a 97.5% mortality rate. Fourth fared slightly better, at 92%.”

He paused and looked up at his superiors, eyes wide. “Should I continue?”

“I think that’s... more than enough, Lieutenant.” Syn’s normally steady voice wavered. “We suffered heavy losses, but... At least we survived. And we accomplished what we had to. Until we reach our destination, every survivor is on leave.” He sighed. “Make sure to visit the medbay. All of you.” He closed his eyes and put his hand back over his wound. The pain was intensifying again. The medic immediately knelt next to him to check. 

The LAATis docked smoothly and the ship personnel surged around them immediately. There were a lot of clones, but humans and even civilians as well and the Jedi could see their eyes going wide as they surveyed the run-down troops. More than two hundred left, only a handful returned. 

Captain Hammer rushed to the Chagrian, saluting firmly, his face set in stone. “General Katta. Quake company suffered a 65% loss in number and 68% in equipment. The injured are being taken care of.” 

“Well done, Captain,” Syn nodded. “Lieutenant Raven will repeat my orders to you. I’ll be in the medbay. I’ll inform Admiral Gilfroy that we can make the jump. We’re heading home.”

He tried to slip off before he could hear the stats again. It didn’t feel like it should be real. He’d lost so many... Captain Hammer never lost so many. None of the captains lost as many as Hector. The clone glared at him, pure disdain in his cold eyes. Hector saluted, but did not receive a gesture in kind. Not that he deserved it.

The time spent in medbay seemed like a blur. Because they’d lost so many medics, there were more non-military personnel on board than he’d remembered. Hector didn’t recognize the hands or the faces above him. He didn’t respond to their questions. He didn’t even lift his eyes. He just laid still and wished they’d sedate him so he wouldn’t have to think anymore. 

When it was all said and done, they pulled shrapnel out of his thigh and hip, wrapped his twisted knee, and reset the bandages around his missing hand.

Hector didn’t mention their General’s offer of an implant.

He found himself back in officer’s quarters some time after midnight. There were four beds in all, including his own. All were occupied the night before and they would be occupied again, but not by the same men. There would be more lieutenants. More officers. If he had any luck, he’d be replaced soon, too.

Hector sank down gratefully onto the mattress, moving from a seated position to lay like a corpse on his back. He wished the blankets would just swallow him up. Smother him and wrap him up in heat and comfort and blissful, blissful dark.

*

Syn had his side treated properly, his burns and cuts cleaned. He wished for nothing more than a hot shower and perhaps something to drink, but he wanted to see to his duties first. Entering the deck, he nodded to Admiral Gilfroy, who saluted him. The ship’s captain was a middle-aged man with salt and pepper hair and dark eyes. He and Syn had a mutual respect for each other, even some sort of camaraderie; they had similar personalities. 

“You look a bit worse for wear, General,” Gilfroy mentioned. “Can I do anything for you, perchance?”

“Now that you mention, Admiral...” Katta hesitated for a moment. “It might seem odd, but I’d be really thankful if you could lend me a bottle from your personal stash. Something... potent. I’ll be needing it.” 

Gilfroy tilted his head to the side, his look mixing equal parts of surprise, curiosity and compassion. “I’ll make sure to send something over, General.”

“Is the contact with the Council established?” 

Gilfroy gestured toward the comm table at the middle. “Ready when you are.”

Syn stepped closer and took a deep breath. The holo connection flickered to life, showing Master Yoda and Master Windu. 

“Good to see you, it is Master Katta,” Yoda greeted him and Syn bowed. 

“Greetings, Masters. I’ve just returned from the mission, and I’m proud to report that it was a success. However, we suffered heavy casualties. The death toll in Wave Company was 95% and with Quake Company, 65%. Most of our equipment was destroyed as well.”

“Those are indeed heavy losses,” Mace Windu nodded. “But the main thing is, you carried out your mission. We’ll have a new company assigned to you as soon as you return.”

“Masters, I have a request,” Katta cut in with another light bow. “I am injured, and I’m afraid that the previous battles worn me out. I have lost my balance and I grew tired of the missions I need to complete. Unless my presence is gravely needed, I’d humbly request to be placed at a less... _exciting_ part of the galaxy, so I could temporarily take my mind off the death and destruction that surrounds us. I fear that I’m drifting closer to the Dark Side.”

Yoda and Windu glanced at each other. Katta was a renowned strategist and military expert, that’s why he was usually given the most difficult mission. They could not afford losing him, and side with Dooku instead.

“Granted, your wish will be,” Yoda nodded finally. “Leave you will have for some days. Less difficult missions you shall receive until at ease you will feel.”

“Have a safe trip home, Master Katta,” Windu nodded, and the connection was closed.

Syn leaned against the edge of the table, and smiled as he sensed Gilfroy’s awe and approval.

*

He didn’t remember getting up and padding to the community showers, or undressing or turning the spray water on. It just seemed like he closed his eyes in bed and woke up with hot water raining down on his back. It burned but it soothed the ache, too. The filth and blood circled the drain, disappearing down the pipes and far, far away. He tried not to think about it, but he knew there would be more blood. He’d spend another night just like this until he finally became laser fodder.

And he’d be followed obediently by another wave of infantry, right into the fray.

Hector didn’t know what he was thinking anymore. 

He washed and washed, and though he couldn’t find anymore dirt, he still felt filthy. This must’ve been what it was like having one’s hands stained with blood.

His sleeping clothes were fresh and clean. They felt good on his skin. The sheets would feel nice, too, but he didn’t lay down. He scooted over until his back hit the wall and pulled his knees up toward his chest, then laid his head against the smooth surface. Like any hot-blooded man, when he was stressed and insecure, he wanted sex. He wanted this wall to be a strong chest and... _kriff_ , he just needed to not let his mind work for a while. Someone else needed to take care of things for a while. 

And with shame, he reminded himself: he wanted someone to take care of him.

There was a medic in Wave company called Alastor. His face was gentle and his hands were quick and warm. They’d comforted one another once, and his name finally pierced Hector’s distraught mind. He would call on Alastor and they would comfort each other again. Alastor even liked to lay in bed afterward. Since he was alone in the room now, they would have the embrace of arms and legs until they were summoned in the morning. Hector sat up to call. Then he remembered: Wave’s medical corps were dead.

Alastor was laying out in the field with the other nameless clones he’d murdered. Hector expected to feel more tears, but none came. He instead stared down at his ruined hand How many of his lovers were dead now? 

*

Syn spent a delightful thirty minutes in the shower after his report; he always enjoyed water, being a member of an amphibious race, and a success warranted celebration, anyway. By the time he walked back to his quarters, a bottle of strong whiskey was waiting for him, and the Jedi mentally thanked the good admiral for it. As he sampled the potent brew, he replayed the previous events in his mind and realized that he should speak to Hector. Maybe the poor thing thought that he was going to get replaced; and his warring emotions could have used something soothing - nice words and a good drink.

He settled down for a quick meditation though, just before carrying out the plan. Today, he witnessed something that shook the foundations of his world - real, honest emotions on a man who was generally classified as a flash and bone droid. Like so many others, Katta believed that these mass-produced soldiers won't be affected by the horrors of the battles. How wrong they were! The pain in Hector's eyes was very real. The captain cared for his men, his brothers. Their passing hurt him, and too much of any negative emotion could lead to anger, and the Dark Side.

Jedi were there to shield the galaxy from harm, to keep the peace and help the people all over the Republic. Their duty was to protect, to nourish. They were fighting this war to put an end to the CIS' aggression, liberating those who suffered under their reign. They fought so the citizens of the Republic wouldn't have to.

Both Jedi and clones were giving their lives for the peace and happiness of those civilians. And while it was an honorable duty... who cared about _their_ happiness? Who mourned when they died? Who remembered them, who cared enough about them to throw a good word at their way?

The Chagrian suddenly understood that he had a responsibility toward the clones. Sure, he always tried to keep the losses at a reasonable level, but only because it was easier and decent not wasting more resources than necessary. That was a rather coldhearted concept, and while Katta never was warm, nice and soft, he prided himself on being just and reliable. Those men deserved his care.

Some fifteen minutes later, he got up and caught the first available personnel, telling him to fetch captain Hector. Then he sat down and waited.


	2. Chapter 2

**chapter break****

The quarter door swished open and a noncombat clone officer entered, looking around. His brown eyes shone softly as he stepped closer. “Captain Hector, General Katta would like to see you. Please meet him at his quarters as soon as possible... unless you need to rest on the medic’s orders.”

The men lingered in silence for a long moment. Hector was lost in his own thoughts; it didn’t feel awkward to him at all. “Of course. I’ll leave right away.”

He guessed that he’d really said it, because the other man responded with a salute. When he left, the door slid shut and left Hector sealed off again. Honestly, he would rather deal with Captain Hammer than General Katta. After his behavior today, he wanted to retreat in on himself until his emotions bled away. Seeing the sympathy in those saffron eyes brought everything back. 

But perhaps the Chagrian was waiting with his lightsaber and an order from the Council to decapitate this faulty clone. The thought made him smile. It was ridiculous, but better than talking.

He numbly followed the halls. Some troopers saw him and spoke, but he didn’t reply. Was this shellshock? Was he finally becoming immune to it all? He hoped so. If the void in his chest would just stay, he could be a good captain again. 

Hector gazed past General Katta’s door. He stood in silence. What would the Jedi want, if not to punish him? The thought truly was comforting. He needed to be put down, reminded of his place. “Captain Hector reporting,” he announced in a robotic monotone.

Syn looked up and took a sharp intake of breath. The captain looked like a dead man walking, eyes hollow, face ashen. The Jedi rushed to him and grabbed Hector’s shoulders.

“Captain! What is wrong? You should be resting. Come, sit.” Really now, why was this one so stubborn? “Tell me what is the matter.”

His face didn’t move an inch. Hector obeyed, stepping inside and finding a spot to sit in the floor. Certainly Syn wouldn’t want him on the bed. “I am just tired, sir.”

In the next moment, a small glass was shoved into his hand. “Drink.”

He looked up, then took the glass. It smelled like... whiskey. The look on his face was one of pure bliss, and with a small smile, he tossed it back. It burned like fire from the lips down, warming that empty place in his stomach. The clone shook his head, licked his lips, and rubbed the bottom of the glass against his hand. "Thank you, sir. I needed that."

"I guessed so," Syn nodded solemnly and offered a hand. "Get up and sit on the bed. I don't want you to get cold." He wasn't sure what to say. He didn't want to make the trooper lock up in grief again. "I have a whole bottle and I intend to share. We both deserve it."

Hector watched the hand curiously. Syn was nice and broad, and even when clean, he smelled strong. Safe. The clone slipped their hands together, then used it to haul himself up. "I didn't think... I mean..." He stood with his hand on the back of his neck, rubbing slowly. "Jedi drink, sir?"

"When they have something to drink," Syn replied with the barest hint of a smile. "I asked the Admiral to lend me something from his stash. He does have good taste." He moved back, sitting on his bed and took the bottle, waving it toward the clone. "Since lately we've been both through a lot... I thought it'd be nice to unwind just a little. To celebrate... We'll get a breather from the Council. I told them that I would like to avoid suicide missions for a while."

"I am glad for you, sir, to get a break." Hector settled down next to him. Now that the thousand-yard-stare was gone from his face, his eyes were wide and incredibly soft. His hair was wilted around the upper part of his face, and he toyed with it while he held his glass out for a second drink. "Thank you for thinking of me. I was... concerned that you would be disappointed in my earlier behavior."

So the guess was right again. Syn briefly touched the clone's shoulder. "If it did anything, it made me see the error of my ways. I have to admit that I deluded myself with thinking my soldiers were less than human - a mistake I regret greatly. I could feel your grief, captain, and it was genuinely human. I had to realize that you and your men deserve the same amount of attention as any civilian. Forgive me for only noticing this now." He bowed his head.

Hector turned to face the Chagrian, the softness starting to sharpen back to robotic acceptance. "You would have been correct sir. We are less than human." He sipped at his drink first, then downed it in a single swallow. "We are clones. I should not have behaved as I did."

"It was not breaching any protocol, in case you're trying to use that excuse," Syn pointed out. "Anything less than a human would not mourn, would not question himself whether he's doing his job right. You merely reacted like a human being - so you must be one. I understand that you'd rather let go all of it and push your emotions away, but that'd kill you. I'd like to help instead of watching you shoot yourself. I'm a Jedi and we're there to help. It is my duty, aside leading the troops in defense of the Republic."

Hector didn't have much of an answer for that. The alcohol felt good in his system. It burned all the insecurities away, his fears, his self-loathing... He felt better like this. Nice and hot. He could admire General Katta, too. He had fine bone structure. Strong bone structure. Those long arms would wrap around him and they would feel so nice. He was sure he wasn't the only clone to think that, but he still felt kind of... bad... Like he was taking advantage of his position. General Katta was indeed nice to look at. He smiled faintly and reached for the bottle to refill his glass.

Except, Syn stole the glass and filled it, keeping it for himself; and he handed over the bottle. He wasn't quite used to alcohol, and his amphibious system didn't take kindly to large doses. The captain on the other hand seemed to enjoy it thoroughly, and the Jedi was not going to deny it from him. If he got a bit inebriated... Who cared, really? He was on leave, and maybe it'll dim the pain, too. Hector deserved a break.

He took a swig thankfully, tipping his head back so he could get a good, deep drink. This was what he needed. Mind-numbing, gut-wrenching alcohol. It left his vision a little hazy, mind a little dizzy, and with a sigh, he slumped back against the wall. "How can you.. help, sir?" He had to pause when he spoke. His tongue felt heavy now, but he felt so warm inside, so relaxed. "Why would you want to? I am easily replaced. Wouldn't that be simpler than trying..." Hector trailed off. He wasn't asking for pity - he was genuinely curious.

"With the death rate, I think a good, experienced commander is to be cherished. The next one could be a rookie. You showed me something today, captain. You made me aware that I'm responsible for your well-being. I don't know how to help... but I would like to try. I was hoping that you could give me some directions." Like offering a shoulder, a spar until they dropped... Anything.

"Directions." He nodded, staring down at the bottle. Liquid strength, right? The clone gave a weak smile and took yet another swig. General Katta would want a replacement after being told what sort of therapy was most effective. He'd learned well what chased the pain away, when he was a younger captain. Pinned under a sergeant, control was ripped from Hector's hands. And he loved it. The next words came softly: "Make me your woman."

Katta's yellow eyes went wide. He stared. Then blinked. Then stared again, not wanting to believe his ears. Surely he misheard something.

 

"Excuse me, but- what?"

Another drink. He needed another drink. Now. Once his thirst was quenched, he set the bottle against his thigh; he then raised his eyes, the brown needy but strangely calm. "Your woman. Make me... your woman." How else could he explain it..? The clones understood it, but perhaps the code didn't make sense to someone else. "Use me to... please you. Make me your woman."

“My... woman.” The Jedi leaned back against the wall, rubbing his chin. On second thought, it made sense. Hector wanted sex, that was obvious, it was just the wording that threw the Chagrian off. But really... The submissive party could easily be referred to as a woman, especially with the clones who seldom came into contact with females. That was okay.

Well, more or less okay. Jedi tended to get a little nervous when the topic came up, mostly because non-Jedi tended to ask damn good questions. Jedi weren’t celibate - a thing others often got wrong. Casual one-night flings were alright. It’s just, it didn’t sit well with the Jedi thinking. Sex without emotions was cheap and once there were emotions, there was the temptation lying in the shadows, ready to strike. 

Then again, Katta had been a Jedi for long, and he knew he was a level-headed, stable individual. One didn’t get far as a Jedi if they didn’t have an accurate picture about their own qualities. Hector was a constant companion, but Syn didn’t have stronger emotions for him than respect. The captain was a good soldier, one to rely on, and Syn wanted to help him. If he wanted sex... Well, why not?

He leaned close, cupping the captain’s face with one hand. “I think I’m getting it,” Syn murmured. “And while it’d be crossing the rules of the military... I see no reason to deny you. I don’t think you’d have problems with attachment. You’re a good soldier, you wouldn’t let some emotion get in the way.” He leaned even closer and brushed his lips against Hector’s, tasting the alcohol’s aroma on him.

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting. Part of him wanted Syn to dismiss him. He wanted to see disgust in that handsome face. Horror. Let the Jedi see that the clones could be just as twisted as any other beings in the galaxy. Then another part wanted exactly what he was getting: the strong hand against his skin and the mouth against his, the scent of General Katta’s masculinity strong in Hector’s nose, his power, his dominance. _That_ was exactly what he craved.

“I am not demanding, sir,” he breathed into the chaste kiss, “I will be quiet for you, and I promise to leave before the morning. I don’t want to disturb your sleep.”

Syn raised a hairless brow at that. He was not expecting this level of submission from a clone - especially not from a captain whom he usually saw on the battlefield, shouting orders, blowing things up and tearing droids apart with bare hands if necessary. 

“No need to sound like a woman, Hector,” He murmured. “You don’t need to be that submissive just because I’m a Jedi. I want you to enjoy this.” He kissed the clone again, this time deeper. 

He parted his lips and sat very still. He wanted to touch, but he hadn't been given permission yet. Didn't Syn understand? He needed this... he needed to be his. It was difficult to explain, but if he was going to enjoy himself, he knew he had to. His calloused fingers stroked curiously over his lethorns--were they sensitive like the lekku of Twi'lek? He squeezed one softly, then used it to pull Syn's head away. "T-torie. Call me Torie... please." The clone toyed with the thin fabric of his sleeping pants. "I will enjoy it if you treat me..." Poorly? Roughly? "It excites me to be dominated, sir."

The experienced Jedi general nearly blurted out ‘but Torie is a female name’- then it clicked. The realization was like a blaster shot through the head. The tough, mean trooper... really wanted to be treated as a woman. Or actually... He wanted to be treated the same way mean men treat their women.

 

Syn wasn't sure whether to back off and stare until his eyes fell out, feel weird or just let go and give the clone some delicate manhandling. He- Wasn't entirely against the idea of being dominative. Often, he felt restricted, restrained by the Jedi Code, by this sudden responsibility the war brought. He was fond of all things military, but his interest was mostly theoretical.

 

"Um. Alright, I... suppose I can do it." He gently fisted into the pink hair and pulled the clone's head back to carefully bite his throat.

Hector didn't know teeth could feel good. The Chagrian's fangs were sharp, dangerous, and could easily open his throat; that thought alone set his blood on fire. He folded his hands in his lap and inhaled shakily, his adam's apple bobbing when he managed to swallow. The fingers felt good. They were strong. They could hurt him. "I only want to pleasure you, sir.. please let me touch you..?"

"Don't wait for an invitation," Syn hissed against the skin and he let his fangs graze against the pulse point. Being possessive was easy - a bit frighteningly so. But he knew himself well. This was not the Dark Side's influence; just a game. He sneaked his hand under the sleeping shirt to map out the muscles on the warm body.

No invitation? Come to think of it, he was rather curious. He'd never seen a body other than his own; he counted another clone's body as "his", due to the lack of genetic differences. This was the first, and probably only, time he'd ever get to be this close to a non-human. It was best to take advantage, right? Being the good soldier that he was, he pulled up his shirt to bare his chest. He took Syn's hands and laid them over his pecs, where he liked his nipples to be touched. Then, he leaned forward to pin the handsome Jedi to his bed, straddling his hips and holding his shoulders down so he could kiss him deep and hard.

Being dominated, huuhh? Syn let the clone do as he pleased, kissing back eagerly. He have gotten some compliments before on his forked tongue and he used it now to practically fuck the trooper's mouth with it. His hands quickly undid the belt of his thin tunic he used to wear under his robe, baring his chest and stomach to Hector - Torie - then grabbed the clone's firm ass with both hands and squeezed.

The general’s tongue was long. Longer than a trooper's tongue. And.. were there different ends to it? Hector noticed that the tips flicked back and forth across the roof of his mouth. It made him tingle. With a soft moan, he caught that nice tongue between his lips and leaned back slowly; the muscle made a lewd sound when he sucked on it, leaving his mouth moist when at last it popped free. Out of his limited experience, he found that General Katta was most definitely best when it came to kissing. He rocked his hips back to get more friction between his thighs, while his rough, clumsy hands curiously traced the lovely indigo flesh the Jedi so easily shared with him.

Syn sighed with delight at the wiggling; his member was coming live and since he was well-endowed, the trooper's movements were able to tease him even now. He gave the shapely buttocks another squeeze then smoothed his palms out on the bronze chest, to tease the nipples.

 

He knew that they won't be able to engage in much, just hands and mouths. Anything more required a preparation, some aid they didn't readily have. The Chagrian mulled over the possibilities.

The look on Torie's face was priceless. There was something pressed against his groin, and it felt... big. Very big. It was thick and hard and it put pressure on his balls, all the way up his taint, to his ass. Could that be..? He scooted back to sit on Syn's thighs, his gaze immediately falling to the impressive bulge that had just been pressed against him moments before. His face went pale first, then a surprised blush darkened his ears and cheeks. He couldn't help himself--he had to look. Torie bit his lower lip and pulled at the waistband of his pants until that... thing bobbed out to leave a slick mark on the inside of the Chagrian's leg. He couldn't bring himself to touch it at first. If he wasn't careful, there was a good chance it'd do irreparable damage to his insides; if he was careful, though, he would be subjected to some lovely stretching. "...sir, you're... very..." He rubbed his thumb over the slit. "..sir, this is almost as long as your lightsaber."

Syn absolutely couldn't keep down a chuckle, his reputation be damned. He grinned at the trooper, feeling both pleased, and smug. "Here's your chance to learn how to wield it... Torie," he told the clone. "Show me how good you are with all this business, and if you do well, you'll get something nice in return." He caressed the flushed face fondly. "Come on my dear... it doesn't bite." It was way too easy to be this... acceptably condescending.

Torie laid his head into that warm palm, and with a soft moan, he dragged his tongue over his thumb and gently sucked it into his mouth. General Katta was good at this. Almost too good. It made his skin crawl in pleasure to think that he might've played this same game with someone else. Torie was nothing more than a convenient frag, which was exactly what he deserved. "It might not bite, but it could choke me." He planted a kiss to the warm pulse of his wrist, then glanced back. It looked like there would be enough room... He slid his hand over Syn's shoulder to sit him up, then with a wobbly movement, he slid himself to the floor, onto his knees. He physically wasn't capable of a proper "tit-frag", but he found that he was able to make do even without breasts. His pectorals were firm, however, they had a bit of give. He set the Chagrian's member between them, pushed them together best he could with his upper arms, then linked his fingers together, folding them to make a nice sheath. Torie moved his upper body back and forth, stroking the sides of his cock with both hands and the underside with his chest.

That was... surprisingly nice. The Chagrian let out a breathy moan and raked his fingers through the pink hair, massaging the clone's scalp. His thighs spread almost automatically to allow Torie closer. "That's good," he murmured. "You're doing well, dear."

 

He found himself wondering, what kind of a woman would a clone make? They were never soft, all firm planes and sharp angles... but good make-up and clothing could do wonders. When Syn was a padawan, he and his master had an assignment once which took them into a spaceport's underworld, to a curious establishment with pretty dancers. Only when Syn attempted to get closer to one of them in hopes to gather some information did he found out that despite all the nice legs and doe-like eyes, all of the ladies were in fact males.

 

And they had several days of leave-

 

No, that would surely be too much. Still, the thought was a usable one. The Jedi leaned closer to the clone's ears. "If you can make me come, I'll buy you a pretty dress. How'bout that, dear?"

It was difficult to do; there was no cushion for him to use that would make it feel better, no way for him to provide pleasurable friction. It was enough for him to grow frustrated, but there was suddenly a strong hand in his hair and a low voice that sounded so appreciative. His lips quirked into a proud smile. He was going to be sure that General Katta would not regret his decision to spend the night with him. Torie would please him like a highly-paid whore. He pushed his hands a little tighter together, his fingers curling and thumbs pressing down so he could hold him close. He realized that due to Katta's size, he could probably reach him with his mouth... Those thoughts froze, though, falling to secondary concern thanks to that offer. He was teasing. Syn had to be teasing. He had to be playing a cruel prank; he was fulfilling his part of the game perfectly, but even so, it was almost too much to bear. He'd never considered wearing a dress before. But now, the image was in his mind, and while he was in his lust-filled haze, he could think of only one thing: he'd be pretty.

The sound that came from his lips was half a sob and half a groan, a tormented sound that only stopped when took the base of his shaft and pulled up. "Y-yes, sir.. please.." He wrapped his lips around all that he could and pressed the remaining length to his chest, then stroked desperately with everything that he had. He didn't break eye contact. He was looking up into the saffron gaze, searching to see if he was being teased. He was sure that Katta didn't mean it. But.. there was hope shining in those wide brown eyes.

It was really hard to miss - and Jedi were attentive people. Syn felt a bit uncomfortable though only for a few moments; the pleasure swept away his doubts. He concentrated on the trooper's inventive ministrations instead. They were undoubtedly efficient.

He kept on rubbing the pink hair and whispering small endearments and encouragements to the clone. The heat in his nether regions was rising, his balls were tingling. 

“Yes, just a little more... You’re doing well.”

The taste was clean and masculine, and even though Katta was bigger than what Torie was used to, it felt good in his mouth. He liked being on his knees, too. From here, he could see his handsome face, could tell that he was pleasuring him. If he wasn’t, Syn certainly did a fine job of pretending otherwise. He hoped he was being a good woman for him... how could he make it better?

The clone leaned back for just a moment. The Chagrian’s legs were very long, but they still slid nicely over Torie’s shoulders. Despite their differences in size and weight, and despite the fact that he was acting very effeminately, it didn’t take much effort for him to pull Syn’s hips forward. He slid his tongue gently over his perineum, nuzzling beneath his testicles; should he consider himself a full-service clone? Torie set himself into his work, licking over the small pucker just a few breaths from his testicles, and he curled his rough hand around the base of his arousal, stroking it firmly with short, brisk touches.

Katta wasn’t loud but still managed to be vocal; his head rolled back, his eyes closed and he moaned, quietly but persistently. He began to stroke the fleshy part of his lethorn to heighten the sensation further. He never actually got this kind of a service, and the tongue bathing him at odd places felt a bit weird, but it was also very nice and the pleasure drowned out any protest that might have risen in him. His hips began to jerk soon and the Jedi’s free hand suddenly seized the clone’s stroking one, squeezing the fingers hard and moving them over his length forcefully. The long blue member was pulsing wildly, in time of Syn’s furious heartbeat

One stroke, more, two, three- And everything exploded in a glorious surge. Katta’s whole body trembled and he came hard, his semen spurting out in long, thick ropes.

Torie found the taste to be... different. It was strong, thicker than a human’s, and the texture made his lips stick together just briefly.

Still, he was determined to be an effective lover, and a good woman didn’t leave any indication of what she’d accomplished. He gulped down the first strands; the bitterness left him reeling, and after he swallowed once, he found that his throat quit working. So, there was no place for the rest of his semen to go, than on Torie’s face, neck, and chest. 

He hoped the hesitation would go unnoticed. The clone lunged to clean up the rest, catching it on his tongue, then shuddering as a great deal leaked messily down his chin. He’d never taken a lover who was so... virile. It made his pussy ache badly.

Eyes half-open, he took his tongue to Syn’s length to wash it first, sure to be extra careful over his slit; if the General was anything like Torie’s brothers, he would be very sensitive immediately after orgasm.

He earned a strained moan with his ministrations and that strong hand caressed his head again. “That was nice,” Syn murmured. “Really nice. You did well, my dear.” The Jedi let the clone clean up, saffron eyes practically glued to the sight. Torie was really enthused about this. 

“Do you- like the taste?”

He took a few mouthfuls with wide lips and an extended tongue, finding where the strands had settled on Syn’s thighs and stomach, then relishing in the time it took to lap them up. The noises he made were soft, happy sounds; coupled with the heavy slurping, though, he knew he looked and sounded just like a whore. 

He leaned back, spied content in those eyes, and immediately wished he was naked so he could finger himself. Since discovering he found pleasure in being filled, Torie didn’t touch his penis much anymore. He found that his orgasms were always more intense when he brought them with his own fingers crammed against his special place. “Delicious, sir,” he purred, tongue flicking out to stroke his thigh. Even if it was already clean. “My stomach is so full.”

Katta flinched at that, slightly. Coming from the man who kept leading his company, tearing through super destroyers, this sounded quite ridiculous. How did he even know-

Now, let’s just wait a second. Certain conditions, quirks never depended on genetics, so was it possible that-

“Hec- I mean- Torie... Do you _want_ to be a woman...? I’d just like to understand what is it that you need.”

The Chagrian’s voice seemed to penetrate the thick haze that glossed Hector’s eyes. For some reason, he started to soften, too, as he leaned back to drop his hands into his lap. Thick hands. Powerful hands. These hands couldn’t possibly belong to a female. “I don’t understand it myself,” he admitted, bowing his head.

Torie was gone. It was just Hector here now, and shame was building up like bodies under fire from Super Droids. Syn was understanding _now_. What about later? “It enhances my pleasure. When I’m someone else, the sensations are so much better, I--” He was grinning despite himself. He really did enjoy giving up control. “I feel like more than just a droid.”

“Aah, I think I’m getting it.” The Jedi tapped at his chin, nodding to himself. “It’s alright. Many derive pleasure from pretending they’re someone else. I just never thought such... quirks existed among clones. It’s most interesting. And it definitely shows you’re more than a droid. Droids don’t overcome their programing.”

He gave Hector a small smile. “You did well and I think I needed this, too. Thank you. Can I help you in any way...?”

He stood with a feral grace, strong muscles stretching under his dark skin. His thighs slid over Syn’s, and as he slid to sit in the Chagrian’s lap, his mostly-hardened cock bounced against the soft skin beneath his navel; without a word, he took the Jedi’s mouth against his own. While he liked to be submissive, the entire purpose of the play was so he could get off, too. 

His tongue flicked into his superior’s mouth, then curled around its forked partner to slide and stroke, and finally, to fuck his throat. Hector’s moans were coaxed out by the feeling of the other man’s breath, his broad muscles, and as he all but forced these filthy kisses from the Jedi, he scooted up until his knees hit the mattress and his member was trapped between their bellies.

The clone rocked back and forth to supply contact to both sides of his cock. Urged on by the wet sounds of their tongues sliding together, he reached back to tease himself. It didn’t take much to get him to full arousal, not with his thick finger circling his opening, then suddenly plunging inside. Hector pushed up with his fingers and down with his hips, crying out softly as he massaged his own prostate.

Saffron eyes widened at the sight and the general had to swallow. Okay, they got pretty intimate already, but- somehow, self-pleasuring was even more of a taboo.

“You like that... Hector, would you like me to do that for you...?” It wouldn’t require that much aid... A generous amount of saliva would do and Syn was quite determined to make his captain feel good. The image which surfaced in his mind - Hector riding his fingers, penis bobbing, head thrown back amidst the throes of passion - was sinfully appealing. Maybe they just both had a lot of pent up frustration and they needed to get rid of it. And they had several days to do that. 

His pulse jumped, tip of his cock giving a twitch at the thought. With a soft moan, he grabbed hold of Syn’s left hand and pulled it up to his lips. His teeth brushed over the indigo fingers first, then with a noisy suck, he drew two of them inside. Hector bathed them; over the tips, between the digits and down to the webbing, around to stroke his knuckles. All the while, he continued thrusting their bodies together. He’d apologize later, but it felt _so_ kriffing good to drip all over his strong abdomen. Katta’s fast breathing was just the glaze on the uj’cake, applying pressure to the sensitive nerves beneath his swollen head.

“ _Gedet’ye_...” Strands of saliva slipped down his lower lip, then chin. Before continuing further, he kissed those gorgeous fingers again. “Please.”

It took just a little maneuvering, but he managed to get Katta inside of him. He sank down around him, hissing as the knuckles breached his opening. His thick hand rested against the back of the Chagrian’s head, and with a low sigh, he bit his lower lip, tilted his head toward the ceiling, and rocked his hips down so he could take all he possibly get. “Ju-just look at me.. _oh_ , you feel so good, sir--I’m close..!”

The Jedi, in fact, couldn’t stop looking. It was so easy to forget that sex was actually a good thing. It sated the body and delighted the soul... and at times, no matter how awesome it was, it didn’t get you attached. Syn couldn’t even remember when he last saw anything so decadent and arousing. His eyes roamed all over his clone’s sculpted body and his handsome face twisting in pleasure, and he felt proud. These men... and this one man in particular trusted him and obeyed him, even though they could have easily rebelled. 

The Chagrian kissed the middle of Hector’s chest. He could feel the furious heartbeat beneath his lips and he began to move his fingers. “Remember what I promised you?” He murmured. “A pretty dress. Come for me, and I’ll get one for you, for real.” He already decided. If Hector genuinely liked this, it was the least he could do - after all, what other joys did a clone know, aside good food and bodily bliss...? Perhaps eight hours of sleep. It was heart-wrenching; and so easy to provide.

If he was wound up before, his body didn’t seem to notice. Every muscle, every inch of skin was burning from the inside out, and now, perched on the Jedi’s fingers, rocking and grinding down on them like a cheap back alley whore, he ached for orgasm.

“..w-want.. a dress.. I’ll be your bitch, sir, _ohmandaI’llbegood_...!!!” He was rambling. But it hurt. In the moments before he came, he went suddenly silent. The sleek muscles tensed, rigid around him, then his sigh turned into a soft, strained sob. Hector came all over his general. He came from his ass and didn’t have to touch himself, but those long fingers felt _so_ good that he wasn’t ashamed. He opened his glazed brown eyes and saw that Syn was watching him.

Hector grinned in exhaustion, dipped down, and stole one more long, drawn-out kiss from his superior.

“Glad to be of service,” Syn commented, carefully pulling his finger out. “I meant it about the dress. We have a few days of leave and I have connections; we’ll visit the lower levels of Coruscant, get you fitted... If anybody asks, you lost a bet. For one day, you’ll get to act out your fantasy.” He tipped his head up, to steal a kiss. 

“Now... Go and have some sleep. And your hand needs treatment. Can’t have a lady on my side who isn’t perfect, now could I?” He grinned, showing off strong white teeth. 

The clone shuddered, snagging his superior’s wrist so he could bathe his fingers with a few long strokes of his tongue. “Thank you, sir. I mean it, I... this means...”

He shook his head. What a poor excuse for a clone he was!

“I mean, yes sir.” On shaky legs, he stood and saluted. He wasn’t fazed at all by standing nude before Syn Katta; he found he rather liked how it felt to have those eyes raking over him. But if he didn’t leave soon, he was going to try to force another round out of the Chagrian.

He had to be a lady, didn’t he?

Katta stood as well, stretching his lean blue body; his muscles rippled beautifully underneath his skin. “Don’t forget to dress,” he advised playfully. “Others might be shocked. I need a quick shower.” The white drops of semen stood out starkly on his indigo stomach. “And before you start to apologize, I don’t mind it.” He gave Hector a small, solemn smile and a slow nod. “Rest well, captain.”


End file.
